


Leijon 6:9

by DesdemonaKaylose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biblestuck, Gen, I just can't help myself okay, TW: enraged messianic archetypes, ancestor headcanons, the Sufferer is the most ill tempered Ghandi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:52:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Signless preached for three years before the empire got him. You'd be lying if you said everybody was pleased to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leijon 6:9

Excerpt from the Book of Leijon 

In Hirjab on the Meenic Sea, the Signless went into a town by the last light of sunset, as the townspeople were just beginning to open the shutters on their hives. The town, which is known far and wide as a harbor where various bloods mingle in safety, received him with a dull curiosity. There was much work in the hearts of the townspeople, and little philosophy, and so the Signless lay down his mat in the doorway of the most sizable warehouse and refused to be moved.

For an hour the workers shoved past him, at such a cumbersome pace that the line grew long and wrapped around the side of the warehouse. Presently, one of the workers made to fetch the overseer who slept in the room above the boxing floor, and he came out into the night.

“Why have you laid down your mat in the doorway of my warehouse?” the overseer said.

“I’m just taking up one doorway,” the Signless replied, “why doesn’t everybody just use the other one?”

For there was indeed another door, a little ways down, and a few trolls were passing through it as they spoke.

“That door is for rust-bloods,” the foreman explained. “I have green-bloods and yellow-bloods working in this place. It is not suitable for all my workers to use the same door.”

Then the Signless answered him boldly: “There’s no fucking difference between the doors, you slime-brained nook-licker. If a green-blood and a red-blood walk through the same door, it’s not like the door explodes or anything. Why can’t they all use the same mother-damned entrance and let me sit in peace?”

When the foreman heard this, he grew enraged. He demanded to know the Signless’ caste, for the bright red of his wanderer’s garments were of a hue available to all.

“What’s it to you if I’m a douche-foaming purple blood?” the Signless said, and refused to lower his hood so that they might see his eyes. “I’m saying the same fucking words either way, it’s not like my blood color magically changes them. Let your bulge-chafing Greenblooded sopor suckers go through the red door and see if there’s any goddamn difference. It all leads to the same place.”

The members of the crowd surged forward around him, demanding that he remove himself from the doorway. Many of them urged him to see reason, believing him indeed to be highblooded and eccentric as purple bloods have been known to be; they urged him to consider the honor of his caste.

“Look, even if the mother grub splits open the fucking ground under our feet and swallows us all up like so much chum, I’ll still not moving one inch and you can all take it up with my bone bulge in the meantime.”

Then the crowd grew furious with his blasphemies and lewd invitations, so the people took hold of him and threw him from the city walls, and left him there thinking him dead. But after his companions had gathered round him, he stood up and went back into the city saying that he had come here to preach the word and kick ass and had recently run out of word to preach.

His companions thought this a particularly poor plan as well as an exceedingly stupid statement.


End file.
